


Ties

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airplane, Artist Louis, M/M, Writer Harry, flight fic, i was bored, sue me, this kept my sanity (what was left of it) alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a published author.</p>
<p>Louis wants to be an artist, but can't seem to get started.</p>
<p>Harry remembers Louis.</p>
<p>But Louis doesn't remember him.</p>
<p>And they're both stupid, stupid, stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ties

Flying drabble because, well, I’m on a plane and I’m bored as fuck.

So yeah.

It’s probably shitty and DEFINITELY crack fic, but it’s gonna be the only thing keeping me sane from Chicago to Omaha.  Enjoy!

 

*****

 

Louis was bored as fuck, and he didn’t care who knew it. 

He was sprawled out in one of the uncomfortable airport chairs in the waiting-area-place-thing (he didn’t care enough to learn the name), with his music blasting at top volume from his headphones. He ignored the irritated looks from the people around him as he sat sideways, skinny jean clad legs draped over the plastic armrest. Out of the corners of his eyes, he observed the people around him, seeing if there was a potentially interesting conversation to be had.

Old couples on their way to see their grandchildren.

New couples with screaming babies.

Middle couples ignoring each other in favor of iPads or laptops.

College kids looking just as bored and antisocial as he was.

Nope, nope, nope, and . . . nope. He sighed, blowing his fringe out of his eyes, resigning himself to just die slowly until his plane got there.

*****

Harry loved airports. There was just something about the bustle of the crowds, of everyone knowing where he or she was supposed to go, that appealed to him. He weaved through the crowds in his tattered black coat, dragging his dilapidated suitcase with him, a grin of excitement making his dimple pop. Words danced through his head, wonderful, descriptive words.

Commotion.

Flurry.

Hubbub.

Sprightly.

Wild.

Harry was a writer. Words appealed to him.

*****

Finally, Louis’ flight arrived. Huffing out a loud “Thank GOD,” he heaved himself out of his chair. Grumbling under his breath, he dragged his backpack behind him by only one strap, still ignoring the glares of the people around him.

He didn’t have any fucks left to give, somehow.

Stalking past the cheery flight attendants with barely a  
glance, he quickly found a window seat and stowed his stuff. He sank down into the cushioned seat with a sigh, hoping that all women with babies had met with unfortunate accidents preventing them from boarding this flight.

Maybe this would be his lucky day and he would have the entire row of seats to himself.

“Are these seats taken?” 

The universe hated him. He was tempted to say yes, but it wasn’t a woman with a baby, so he thought he could manage. Sighing, he gestured to the empty seat. “It’s all yours, mate.”

“Thanks,” the stranger said gratefully, sinking down much as Louis had.

He took a moment to study the stranger (seeing as how they had to spend the whole flight together and such). He was long legged, almost ridiculously so, and he was wearing a pair of absurd skinny jeans that probably came from the junior girl’s section. His black overcoat was battered, not ripped, just . . . worn. Then Louis got to his face, and was a bit dumbfounded. It wasn’t an ATTRACTIVE face, per say – but it drew you to it, made you examine it more closely than you originally intended until you were forced to admit that it was beautiful. It was framed by a mop of curly dark hair held back by . . . oh dear god. Was that a headband?

Louis had found his interesting person.

*****

When Harry first saw him, he thought there must have been a mistake. Louis Tomlinson? On this flight? He hadn’t seen him since high school.

And, well, Louis had never seen him.

Louis was popular, athletic, and beautiful. Harry was the nerd with a notebook in the corner, constantly scribbling about the people around him and making up stories about them. (All of his stories included a pretty boy with ever-changing blue eyes, but that’s not important now)

And now to see him, right here, in front of him . . . this was incredible. And he was so _different._ His face was sharper, more defined, and you could already see the smile wrinkles even though he was only in college. All his hair was pulled back in a grey beanie, and he was in baggy sweats.

Harry was overwhelmed.

“Are these seats taken?” He asked, thanking whatever god that was watching over him that his voice didn’t stutter.

Louis didn’t even glance up. He simply sighed and waved his hand limply. “It’s all yours, mate.”

Harry couldn’t believe his luck, but he flopped into his seat. “Thanks,” he breathed out, then cursed himself for acting like a girl.

Louis didn’t bother to answer, but Harry could feel his gaze as he pretended to busy himself with getting his laptop out. He felt his face getting hot at the other boy’s scrutiny.

“So what’s your name?” Louis asked.

Harry sighed. He knew Louis didn’t remember him, but it still hurt. “Harry.”

Louis considered for a minute. “Nice name, that. What’re you working at?”

Harry had gotten out his laptop and was opening up his latest story. It was about a blue eyed hero. “I’m a writer.”

Louis perked up. “ _Do_ tell. What’s your genre? Mystery? Adventure? Oh please tell me you aren’t one of those hipster poets.” He sounded so horrified that Harry had to mess with him.

“What if I was?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. (It had taken him months to figure out how to do that)

Louis sighed dramatically. “Then I would have to ignore you. I don’t talk to hipster poets.”

Harry laughed. “Then it’s a good thing I write everything BUT poetry.”

Louis wiped a dramatic hand across his forehead. “Thank GOD. I was worried I would have to just ignore you the entire time and that would suck for EVERYONE involved.”

“Yeah, it would,” Harry said softly, thinking of the years he had dealt with that very thing. “Anyway,” he said, trying to lighten the suddenly tense mood, “what do you do, Louis?”

“Weeeell,” Louis said, light eyes narrowed in thought, “I WAS a retail worker at American Eagle, but then I realized I hated that brand so I quit. Then I moved on to Starbucks, but all that taught me was that I don’t know how to follow directions. Then I got offered a job in a strip club, but I’m not THAT poor so I decided against it. So now? I’m going to visit an old friend who might know someone who could help me.”

Harry nodded. He had been there, in that time in between jobs, but that had been in high school. He had sold his first book at nineteen and it had been an instant hit, so . . . he didn’t lack for much now. Something was confusing him, though. “Louis, you’ve told me what you’ve been – but what do you WANT to be?”

Louis looked at him. “Um. I want to be an artist. But no one will even look at my work.”

“Lemme see.”

Without a word, Louis dug in his backpack and pulled out a scruffy black book. He flipped through it, then wordlessly handed it to Harry. It was a picture of a tall figure, almost completely featureless in a dark hoodie, hands in pockets. The only discernable feature was he mop of curly hair peeking from the hood. Harry studied it. Then realization hit him. “Louis, who is this?”

Louis looked uncomfortable. “He was a boy I went to school with. He always had that damned notebook with him, and he was just such an . . . enigma, I had to draw him.”

“When did you draw this?”

“Last year.”

“You drew this from _memory?”_

Louis frowned. “Yes.”

Harry was dumbfounded. “Louis,” he said suddenly, “What if I told you I knew someone who would take your work in a heartbeat? Someone, who, coincidentally, has been looking for an illustrator?”

Louis leaned forward. “I’m listening . . .”

Harry hesitated then. This could potentially get messy. “Well . . . have you heard of Harry Styles?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah, I’ve read his stuff. He’s pretty good. Why?”

Harry groaned. “You’re an idiot. He’s the one I was talking about! Who needs an illustrator!”

Louis gaped. “You KNOW him?”

“His publisher, Liam,” Harry said, hiding his smile.

“That’s FANTASTIC! Can you tell me the address so I can look it up later?” Louis was ecstatic.

Harry told him, then watched as a look of confusion came over his face. “But that’s where my friend lives. . .” he said slowly.

Shit. “Who’s your friend?”

“Zayn Malik?”

Shit shit shit shit shit. “Yeah, he’s Liam’s boyfriend?” Harry said hesitantly.

“Wait – THAT’S the Liam? And YOU’RE the Harry Zayn talks about?” Harry could literally watch Louis putting it all together in his head. “But if you’re that Harry . . . that means . . . oh my god I’m an idiot. You’re Harry Styles. You’re bloody Harry Styles. And Zayn wanted me to meet you so I could do your artwork.”

Harry snorted. “Guess we beat him to it.”

“I guess so,” Louis said remorsefully. Then he added, “We could still get him with a prank or something, though.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow (god he loved doing that). “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“We come in separately then as soon as he introduces us we should do some sort of complicated handshake then run and hide.” Louis was completely straight faced. 

Harry snickered. “I’m in.” As he and Louis settled down for the landing, he couldn’t help himself. “Louis?” He asked.

“Yes?”

“Do you know the name of the boy you drew?”

Louis sighed. “Nope. Was always too scared to go talk to him.”

Harry huffed in a startled breath. “Why on earth were you scared?”

Louis glared at him half-heartedly out of the corner of his eyes, and then let out a breathy sigh. “He was too lovely, and I was afraid. /p>

And no matter what Harry said to him the rest of the flight, he refused to say anything more on it.

*****

Aaaaaaaaand I’m done cause my flight’s over J 

COMMENT IF YOU WANT ME TO CONTINUE CAUSE OTHERWISE I WON’T


End file.
